Knives or Hearts
by Kelaine729
Summary: Belle saw Rumplestiltskin's name fading from the dagger when he had his heart attack and tries to find him before it's too late.
1. Letters on a Knife

I do not own Once Upon a Time.

**Note: **Mostly complete, but I won't be able to sleep unless I post this tonight. I'll try to tidy it up and get the ending in a day or two. Send all complaints to the story fairies who told me to write or else tonight.

X

There was blood on the knife. Belle, smelling it, remembered the last day of the Ogre War, how the stench of death and dying filling the air. It was thick, coating the sharp edges of the blade, filling the dark letters of the fading name still engraved on the dagger. Belle looked at the lifeless body slumped on the floor, dead eyes staring. Mutely, she met her husband's silent, uncomprehending gaze, trying to understand what she had done.

X

Early that day, people on the street stared as Belle Gold (or Belle French, no one seemed to be sure what to call her) had gone mad, seizing her grandson. She had dragged him into the shop that was her husband's, demanding the boy's blood.

Five days before, Belle had sat in their house (_his _house, she thought. _His _home. _His _things. She had no right to them, no more than any other thief). She had sat in a chair, staring at the dagger and the name on it, wondering what to do next as the day darkened and the shadows stretched (where was he? Had he found shelter? A place to spend the night?). _Rumplestiltskin _was still engraved on it, as deep and dark as ever.

Given the alternative, she knew that had to be a good thing.

Belle took it out each day, over and over again, getting as bad as Ruby checking her phone when she was waiting to hear back from a guy, not that Belle didn't check her phone, too. But, his had been left behind. She'd found it in the shop when everything was done. So, she couldn't interrupt him, she supposed. Or so he wouldn't be tempted to stop at the last minute and answer her.

It wasn't the only thing she did. She searched through books, magical and mundane, for solutions. She looked for scholars and tried to craft lies to coax answers out of them.

She listened to her friends—as well as his enemies—telling her how wonderful and brave she'd been till she wanted to scream.

When she couldn't take it anymore, when they were finally gone, she pulled out the dagger, reassuring herself that he was well, he was alive.

But, that first night, she had sat alone in the growing darkness, wondering what she should do, knowing she couldn't go up the stairs to their . . . to _his _room, to _his _bed.

She couldn't call it hers anymore, not after what she'd done.

Belle spoke to Dove the next day (on her husband's phone when she found it in the shop). Dove had heard what had happened by then (and in so many different versions). Her words had been slow, monosyllabic. Dove, usually so silent, had been the one to take the lead, filling in the gaps. Of course, he would see to it the rents were still collected and deposited. He would take care of repairs and any other business. Mrs. Gold, he supposed, would take care of the shop.

"And I'll be there if anyone gives you any trouble," he said. "With Rumplestiltskin gone, they may think you're vulnerable. I'll make sure they know they're wrong."

"Thank you," Belle has whispered, her numbness slipping just far enough for her to feel stunned at his offer.

"No thanks necessary," Dove said simply. "He would want it."

It was like a slap to the face.

Belle went to see Emma. Emma knew how to find people and she knew other people—people outside of Storybrooke—who did the same. Belle had started to ask her, and then Hook came in. He was all charm and smiles, thanking her for what she'd done.

He'd followed Rumplestiltskin to New York, nearly murdering him on his son's doorstep. Belle saw the way Emma's eyes glowed when she looked at the pirate. She knew that look. Right or wrong, a woman who looked at a man that way would hold nothing back from him.

She felt the dull ache in her own heart where something that had rooted deep had been torn out, leaving a gaping hole. Belle turned away without asking Emma to help her find her husband, to let her know he was all right.

All she could do was take out the dagger and look at it, tracing the letters with her hands, knowing he was alive. He had to be alive. Somewhere.

Till the day the blackness on the blade began to fade, the letters of his name began to disappear.

_Emma, _she thought. _Emma._

She could call her, beg her for help. Belle owned half the town and understood things about potions and spells even Regina didn't (not that Regina needed to. When you can wave your hand and turn someone into a slug, understanding the alchemical theory behind acne cream must seem fairly unimportant).

How long would it take to find Rumple? How far could he have gotten from Storybrooke? She'd kept an eye on his accounts, the ones she knew of, looking for some sign of where he was or what he was doing. But, there'd been nothing.

He might have accounts she didn't know about. He might be halfway around the world, for all she knew. Belle cursed herself, wishing she had the magic to make her words _do _something. She shouldn't have been a _coward_. She shouldn't have run away. If she'd spoken to Emma at the beginning, made her understand why Belle couldn't have Hook know about this, maybe she'd know what to do or which way to run.

Or maybe Hook would have found a way to make these letters fade that much sooner.

If he hadn't found a way already, if he hadn't gone to Emma and asked the questions Belle had been afraid to speak. . . .

Or if any of dozens of others, people with real or imagined wrongs, hadn't done the very same. Her own father might have done it. They'd built a fragile peace between them, and he'd led her to the wishing well Rumplestiltskin and Belle had chosen as their wedding altar. But, he hadn't hidden his happiness since she sent Rumplestiltskin away.

He'd saved her father's life, his life and the lives of all their people. He'd saved _her_, time after time—he'd _died_ for everyone in this town, giving his _life _to stop Pan's curse, to save them from the hell on earth that demon had meant for them. Didn't that deserve some sign of gratitiude?

Belle thought of herself forcing Rumple into exile, turning a deaf ear to his pleas.

No, she thought, feeling the familiar pain inside her, it didn't.

Then she saw Henry walking by. Henry. Rumple's grandson. She grabbed the boy, babbling madly as she dragged him into the shop, not caring if he understood or not as she brought his hand down on the sharp needle of the globe.

New York. Rumple was in New York.

Belle picked up the phone, hands shaking. She called Dove.

X

_Such good intentions, _she thought later, the smell of blood overwhelming her. _They'd all had such good intentions._

She remembered the cries as the Ogres attacked and the sound of stone striking stone as the Ogres beat down their walls. She remembered the screams of children.

And blood. Always the smell of blood.

Till an imp appeared, smelling of leather and fire, promising them their lives.

For a price.

Her hand shook as she looked at the dagger, saw the changing letters and the blood.

She had started out with good intentions.

X

Dove found the pilot, a man from this world. He also found the nearest place to the town line that could be used for a small plane to lane. Dove explained something about the skills of his cursed self, words Belle heard at a distance, ex-military, old contacts. Perhaps they would mean something to her later. She thought the pilot might have asked her questions. She had a knife on her lap, after all (that was another advantage to a small plane, he didn't care if they brought a knife onboard—or he didn't once Dove paid him).

There was a story they'd had ready, something that went with the curse (in case she slipped up in her telling, mixing truth with the lies that had to be told). It was a complicated tale about this antique dagger and why Mr. Gold was a bit superstitious about it and considered it his good luck charm. If she was asked why she was rushing to her husband's side with a knife in her hand, that was her reason.

Luck. Will Scarlet, drunken desecrator of books, had been the only person to wish her luck when she'd left. He'd pressed a small packet into her hands. "It'll help," he told her, before Dove shooed him off.

They'd been flying for about an hour when Dove got a text on his cell. He turned to her and said, "They've found him. He's in the hospital. He's had a heart attack, but he's going to be all right." It was one of the longest speeches she'd ever heard from him. She began to breathe easier—

—Until the few letters remaining on the blade began to fade away.

X

A hospital. There was a hospital. Belle ran through the doors, leaving Dove to settle with the taxi. Garbled words at the desk, answers, a room number. Other phrases, ". . . .need to speak with the doctor. . . . Questions. . . . Forms. . . ." Belle ran past them, having the only thing she needed to know.

The letters had nearly vanished. She thought for a moment they were gone. Then parts of the "R" had been visible again. Faint ghost-letters began to reappear. The pilot must think she was a madwoman the way she'd begun screaming. Or he had till he'd seen the letters writing themselves back on the blade.

Belle didn't know what he'd thought in the end. Dove had a quiet word with him after Belle had calmed down and only said, "He didn't see anything. And he'll remember he didn't see anything."

It hadn't been a comfortable trip.

The hat. If she'd let Rumple use the hat, none of this would be happening. It would have meant murder, she told herself. It would have meant Hook dead. But, right now, she couldn't feel the horror at that thought the way she knew she should.

No, forget the hat. If she'd just let him stay in Storybrooke. If she'd asked why he was doing this and _listened—_Had he known when she exiled him how weak his heart was? This was Rumplestiltskin who always knew everything. But, had he known?

A worse thought hit her. Had he seen this? With the scraps and crumbs the future gave him, had he seen himself dying, all his power useless to save him? Had he been trying to save himself when she stepped in and stopped him?

A man would have died, she reminded herself. A man who had tried to kill her three . . . no, four times. Who had nearly murdered Rumplestiltskin, Neal, and the entire town.

No, that didn't make it right. She had been right to stop that murder. Dear gods, she _had_ to have been right. _Please, _she prayed, _don't let him die. Don't—_**don't**_—make me responsible for his death. Please._

She reached his room.

Belle stopped, catching her breath, trying to compose herself. She didn't know what Rumplestiltskin needed, but it wasn't the sight of a half-hysterical madwoman (did they have a ward for the insane here? How close was Belle to pushing herself over the edge and finding herself there?).

Nightmares flew through her mind as she walked the last few feet. When she'd been a child and Gaston had been a brat of a pageboy in her father's service, he had delighted in telling her terrifying stories, the sort boys told each other to see who would admit to being scared first. A traveler took shelter in an Ogre's den, the bullied boy became a fearsome wolf who killed his attackers by moonlight, a hungry goblin is let in by a foolish wish and carries the child away, a wanderer seeks shelter in a cave only to discover it is lined with teeth and the moist ground he stands on is a giant tongue. . . .

For weeks, she'd been unable to walk around a corner without holding her breath, wondering what horrors might be standing there.

She imagined horrors now. Rumple gone. Almost worse, Rumple still there but unable to hear her as she tried to talk to him one last time before he faded away. Or a Rumple alive and angry with her, his last words a curse.

Or Killian Jones, somehow here ahead of her, waiting only till she was there to see before sinking his hook into Rumple's heart and thanking her for making sure Rumple was weak and helpless when they met.

Clerics, Pan, Regina, a thousand nightmares seemed to swim past her eyes. She imagined stepping through the door and finding herself in a dark cell, the same cell where she had spent nearly thirty years.

It would be lined with teeth, she thought, and the door would swing shut like giant mouth of a monster disguised as a green hill. . . .

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Child's nightmares. None of that was real.

Belle walked in on a scene worse than any she had imagined.

Zelena.

Zelena lying over Rumple on his hospital bed. Like a lover. Like a cat playing with a mouse. She was playing with the tube giving him breath, keeping him alive.

Belle stepped closer, like a person in a dream drawn to the terror they wanted to run from. She heard Zelena whispering threats to Rumplestiltskin. Belle's head pounded.

It couldn't be real. It _wasn't _real.

She stepped closer, and Zelena looked up at her. The witch smiled. "Well, well, look whose come to join us, Rumple? Little Belle, how good to see you. Step back, _dearie_, or I think your poor husband might take a turn for the worse."

Zelena ran a hand through Rumplestiltskin's hair. Not like a lover, she thought, as if Rumplestiltskin were her _pet._ The room tilted and everything turned red. . . .


	2. Bad Dreams

**Content Warning: **Gold's nightmares are not pleasant. Trigger warnings for non-graphic physical abuse and sexual abuse. Also for borderline graphic rats. No descriptive details but heavily implied ones.

X

In his worst nightmares, Zelena won. She went back in time, back before her own birth, back to when Rumplestiltskin was only a poor spinner. In some of them, she appeared to him, a powerful, glorious sorceress, offering to save Bae's life in return for Rumplestiltskin becoming her slave. She treated him as brutally as she had treated them during the year he had spent in her cage and in her chambers. Only, this time, he was _grateful._

Every beating, every cruelty, every perversion, he remembered what she had done for him, the village coward, a man who was left than nothing, and he was _grateful_ for every blow because they were the price he paid for his son to live.

In some of the dreams, Bae was really dead, murdered by Ogres or by Zelena, getting rid of one more thing Rumplestiltskin loved that wasn't her. Yet, he went on, obeying Zelena's orders no matter how the sickened him when she summoned him to her rooms or decided to step into the cage where she kept him penned like a beast. After, he fell short or failed her in some way, he accepted his punishment—he _thanked _her for putting up with failures, never knowing she'd left Bae's bones for the Ogres to pick their teeth.

In other dreams, things never got that far. In one Zoso was free. The Ogres that attacked them were under his command. Zelena said she could stop him if only someone could steal a precious, magical object from the Dark One. Desperate, Rumplestiltskin did as she asked only to fail and be captured. Zoso cast a spell on him, leaving him unable to move. He left him on the dungeon floor while rats slowly crept out. They approached timidly at first, sniffing at him, waiting for him to move. When he didn't react, they began to nibble at his skin.

Zoso watched and laughed. But, the face of the Dark One wasn't the face of the beggar he remembered. It was his own face, lizard eyed and covered with scales. Zelena came and stood beside him, smiling. When the Dark One turned and looked to her, Rumplestiltskin saw the fire in his eyes. He knew they were lovers, and this had all—sending him here, setting him up to be caught—been a game they played with him, like a cat with a mouse. She told him as much, but this didn't change that he'd failed her and must pay the price. She waved her hand, and Bae appeared before him. The last thing he saw was Zelena murdering his son before the hungry rats began to lick Rumplestiltskin's eyes.

There were other nightmares even grimmer. Deaths and tortures piled high like hay gathered against the winter. Sometimes, Rumplestiltskin lay helpless, unable to do more than watch. Other times, he served her, happy for the chance to be her kicked dog and lick her feet as she destroyed everything he loved.

He'd been able to hide the dreams in Storybrooke. Small magics, nothing more. A small matter of not crying out in his sleep or letting his body jerk around in ways that suggested nightmares. If he started awake sometimes, his heart racing, well, he'd managed not to trouble Belle with it.

He couldn't do that in this world. There was no way to hide it when he woke in terror, his weakening heart pounding against his ribs. It did matter if he woke up screaming. There was no one to hear or care.

Besides, they were dreams. Only dreams. Zelena was dead.

Until she wasn't.

Until the mask dropped away and he knew she was alive, alive and in the same room as him while he lay helpless, unable to get away as she came for him.


	3. The Heart of the Matter

Belle remembered hiding beneath a table with her mother as an Ogre stalked into the room. She remembered the tight feeling in her chest as she tried to stay quiet, silent and unseen, while the beating of her heart thundered in her ears like a mountain storm. She remembered the moment when the Ogre had lifted the table, tossing it aside. Belle had looked up at the monster, meeting its eyes. For a moment that stretched for eternity, there was nothing but silence, as if her heart had stopped.

Then, nothing. Darkness. Till she woke in her own bed and learned her mother was dead.

As she looked at Zelena, the blood beat in her ears. "You're dead," was all Belle could think to say.

Zelena smiled. "Am I? Well, then, I must have gone about it much more cleverly than you. _I_ didn't spend thirty years in a cell before staging my resurrection." Her hand tightened around the breathing tube. "Stay back, dearie. You really don't want me pulling this."

It was the second time she'd called her 'dearie.' She was trying to rankle her. She was threatening Belle's husband's life, and she was trying to _Irritate _her.

_She's a fool, _Belle thought. _Playing games—playing them _here_, as if she still had her magic. As if she can kill a man and just fly away on her broom._

No, not a fool. Just mad. Belle didn't know everything Zelena had done to Rumple, but she knew enough. And she knew that, despite everything she'd done, Zelena had never doubted she could still make Rumple love her. She'd murdered his son, imprisoned him, tortured him, and yet she had been certain till the end a time would come when he would welcome her into his bed.

Belle shuddered, remembering things she'd caught glimpses of in Rumple's castle when Zelena kept him caged there. She remembered things they'd found in Zelena's house and in the dark hole in the ground where she'd kept Rumple kenneled like a beast. He may not have _welcomed_ her, but Belle knew Zelena hadn't waited for Rumple to change his mind about her, not when she only had to speak her commands to make him obey.

They hadn't spoken of it, the same way they hadn't spoken of so many things. In the days after he was freed, Belle, seeing the warm light in his eyes when he looked at her, had thought it was enough. Enough to begin with. Enough to start healing the wounds Zelena had left behind.

"If you pull that," Belle found herself saying calmly. "Alarms will sound. You won't get out of here. There's no magic to protect you this time."

"Isn't there?" Zelena pulled out a gold and emerald pendant. "There are some things that still work here." And, suddenly, it wasn't Zelena standing in front of her, it was Marian. Then, it wasn't Marian. Belle was looking at a reflection of her own face. "Do you think anyone will stop the grieving widow when she leaves? Or when she heads back to Storybrooke? I promise, you, dear, I'll set him in the ground right by Baelfire. Won't that be nice? I can even have that father of yours deliver flowers every week. Anything special I should get? Does he have a favorite flower? I wouldn't want him to feel neglected."

"You're never going back to Storybrooke," Belle said. "I'll see you dead first."

"Me? Oh, no, I think we should see you dead first, don't you agree? After all, I've already had my turn." She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, silvery gun. Rumple's gun or one just like it. "You said I had no magic, but this world has things just as good, don't you agree?"

X

Gold didn't know how quickly his heart needed to beat to trigger an alarm. He couldn't believe it hadn't already done so. From the moment he woke, this had seemed like one long, impossible nightmare. Zelena alive. Zelena _here._

And Zelena about to kill Belle.

He had lain here, helpless, just like his nightmares. Those would have been better. Sleeping on the floor of Zelena's storm cellar, waking when the rats, who sometimes scurried across the dirt, came to sniff at him. He thought of his nightmares, where he was awake but unmoving as the rats came and tentatively investigated his eyes before taking a lick at them.

Ogres, he remembered, were like bears. A bear let loose in a flock of sheep, would kill them all, only bothering to eat its favorite parts, the soft bits that were easy to get to. An Ogre would do the same in a field of men. Rats, Ogres, bears, they were nothing compared to what Zelena would do.

He tried to fuel his fear with that, tried to find enough terror to give himself strength, to make himself move. Instead, he could only lie there, helpless as Zelena pawed him.

Gods, it would be better to wake and find himself back in Zelena's cage, to know he was still enslaved by the dagger, that everything—his marriage, his desperate attempt to free himself from his curse, Belle's anger and exile—that all this was just a dream instead of knowing his freedom, all his hopes of never being leashed like this again, had been nothing more than fate playing with him like a mouse, tossing him back into the cat's jaws.

Then, Belle has walked in.

He knew he was mad then. He knew he _had _to be dreaming. Because, he was in New York, he was trapped in a nightmare and dying. For Belle to be there, she would have to have abandoned Storybrooke—she would have had to give up everything and everyone she loved—for him.

This was a dream, a nightmare, or he was mad.

Her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying, the way she'd cried when he first brought her to his castle, the waves of homesickness that had taken her in those early days when he treated her more like a prisoner than a servant. But, she hadn't been pale and haggard like this. He'd only seen her like that when she'd first escaped the asylum where Regina had kept her for all the years of the curse.

No, this had to be his mind piecing together all his nightmares and all his crimes. His fault, either way. Yet, even if this was just a patchwork of memory coming together to remind him one last time of all his sins—and, surely, his sins against Belle, were among the worst he'd committed. He'd promised her safety and his love. He'd only broken two deals in his life, and both of them were with the people dearest to him.

But, the sight of her sparked a warmth inside of him. Something inside him felt alive again, energized.

A dream, then. Any moment now, he would wake and it would be over.

But, it end. Nothing changed. Zelena was still there. She mocked Belle while running her hands over Rumple as if no one was there, as if she expected to make love with what was nearly a corpse. She showed her how the pendant worked, just as she'd shown him. Then, laughing, she pulled out his gun and pointed it at Belle.

Long ago, Rumplestiltskin had gained the ability to see the future. It was weaker in this world. Even in Storybrooke, it came only in shattered pieces, too few, too rare, too_ small_ to do any good. Out here, where there was no magic for him to draw on, he'd been as blind as any other mortal.

Now, he saw the moment unfold in the instant before it happened. He saw the bullet speed out of the gun, saw it strike Belle in the place between her brows where a small line was already forming as she glared at Zelena. He saw the blood and the small spray of bone and brain as her beautiful eyes glazed over and grew dim.

_No._

He found that small spark of energy he'd felt at the sight of Belle and lifted his hands. It was nothing. In the normal course of things, it would have been as meaningless as an infant trying to stop an armored knight with his pudgy fists. But, he didn't need to stop Zelena. He only needed to raise his hands a few inches and grab hold of her arm before his strength ran out again.

It was enough. The witch was taken by surprise. He knocked her arm a few, critical inches off. The bullet went wide as Belle lunged at Zelena, something silvery glittering in her hands.

Even in the World Without Magic, Rumplestiltskin could feel it as the dagger buried itself in Zelena's heart, drinking her blood. The witch tumbled off of the bed and onto the floor. On the floor, he saw the pool of blood spreading out beneath Zelena's body. Beneath her hand, the one that hadn't held the gun, he saw the smaller pool of the magic potion that could have saved his life spreading out from the shattered remains of the vial that had held it.

Though Belle couldn't know what it meant, he saw the stunned horror in her eyes as she looked at him. It wasn't the potion, he realized. He remembered the first time he'd killed. There'd been the same mute shock as the demon all the Frontlands feared, the Dark One, feel dying on the forest floor, and Rumplestiltskin had seen the face of the beggar who had helped him try to save his son. He remembered what he'd felt as he looked at the blood-coated blade and saw Zoso's name vanish and his own take its place.

Belle came towards him, the same bloody knife in her hand. She stepped over Zelena's dead body and came and stood beside his bed. She lifted the dagger, her hands shaking, and put it down on the small table by his bed that held the call button and some water, avoiding getting blood on the sheets. Then she reached into her purse and pulled out another, small vial. Rumplestiltskin recognized it, the same one he had given Robin Hood all those years ago when he sent him to steal some of the potion from Zelena.

Taking slow, measured breath, Belle managed to regain some steadiness. She pulled out the stopper and poured the contents into his throat. Rumplestiltskin felt his heart steady. The annoying machine and its maddening beeping began to steady. Why had anyone thought he needed to hear that? As if he weren't already aware of how each beat of his heart was bringing him closer to death?

Except it wasn't, not anymore. Life and warmth were flooding back into him. Belle held both of his hands in hers as if she would never let him go. She was smiling at him, despite the tears running down her face. She could also see the unspoken question in his face.

"Will had it," she told him. "Will Scarlet. He said he'd stolen it off Robin Hood ages ago when he met him in Oz. But, he'd never used it. He gave it to me before I came."

Will Scarlet. Rumplestiltskin remembered the thief, a man who'd wandered from Oz to their world to Wonderland before landing himself in Storybrooke. Rumplestiltskin had held a grudge against him for upsetting Belle when she found him after he'd broken into her library, curled up asleep around a picture of the Red Queen he'd torn out of _Alice through the Looking-Glass_, but he supposed he would have to forgive him for this. Because, Belle was happy. She was still crying, but he could see how happy she was as she leaned down and kissed him on his brow.

"Rest, Rumple," she told him. "It will be all right. Just rest."

A corner of his mind knew it wasn't. There was too much that was still wrong. Zelena . . . Zelena was dead. But, that wasn't a simple matter, not in this world. He tried to say something, but the tube was in his way. He felt so tired. An after-effect of the potion, one corner of his mind said. The other argued again that none of this could be real. Perhaps he was still lying on the hospital bed, dreaming Belle was here. Perhaps, he thought, he was conjuring a pleasant fantasy, something to ease the pain as he lay dying.

It didn't matter. Real or not, Belle was here. She had come back to him. He felt the warmth of her as she held his hands. He'd felt the hot sting of her tears as she'd kissed him. If this was how it all ended, he thought as he drifted into sleep, it was enough.

X

_Zelena was pressed against him, a hand running through his hair, her face resting on his chest over his faltering heart—_

Rumplestiltskin surged awake, pushing off the body lying across him.

"Rumple? Rumplestiltskin! What's wrong?"

Belle. It was Belle standing (a bit shakily) half-awake beside him.

If it _was _Belle. . . .

"Rumplestiltskin. . . ?" She looked at him uncertainly. But, then, Zelena would look at him that way if she were using the pendant, pretending to be his wife. The same way she'd pretended to be Marian. Rumple closed his eyes, trying to block out the thought. But, no matter how Locksley felt about Regina, Rumplestiltskin knew the man had been trying to rebuild with his "wife." Zelena had wanted all that and more from Rumplestiltskin. The dagger had no power to force him to obey her commands here but, wearing that face, looking at him with those eyes, no dagger was necessary—or so Zelena might think.

"Prove it," he said. "Prove you're her, that you're Belle."

Belle understood. She nodded gravely in that way she had (would Zelena know that? The pendant transformed, it didn't give knowledge). "When we were married, I told you sometimes the best teacup is chipped."

But, he only shook his head. "Before," he whispered. "Tell me something from before Zelena returned." Surely, he would have known if she'd been lurking there in the shadows, wouldn't he? But, she had been. She had been in Storybrooke the whole time, and he'd never known.

"I kissed you for the first time by your spinning wheel. It was after you let me go, and I returned." She smiled wistfully. "It didn't end well, but it was a wonderful kiss while it lasted."

"Belle. . . ." He reached out for her. She took his hand again, coming close to the edge of the bed. She didn't lie down beside him again. He wanted—and didn't want—her to. There were things Zelena had done—and things she had done to him—that he had avoided with Belle. He'd been subtle for the most part, and he'd been self-controlled when he couldn't be subtle. Being pinned down, having Belle lying even partly on top of him was one of the things he did his best to avoid. When he couldn't avoid it, when Belle fell asleep against him like that, he had simply stayed awake holding her. So long as he was awake, so long as he could remind himself that this was Belle, not . . . not someone else, it was all right.

He hadn't wanted her to know how weak he really was. Weak and afraid.

"It's all right," Belle said. "It's really me. I won't leave you, Rumple."

"The police," he said. "Didn't they have questions? Zelena's body. . . ."

Belle looked embarrassed. "I thought about explaining it to the police," she said. "She had a gun and she'd tried to shoot me. But, no one heard it. I suppose she must have had something magical that took care of it. So, I—I used that necklace of hers. It transformed things, after all. I didn't see why it could only be used for human shapes."

There were reasons, actually. Used just by itself, the six-leafed clover _truly_ transformed the user. Turn someone into a dog, for example, and they would only have the mind of a dog. Fortunately, while dogs tended to forget very quickly how to change themselves back to human, they also forgot to keep the pendant on. As soon as it was off, the transformed person changed back. But, that didn't matter with a corpse.

"I turned her into a rat," Belle said. "A large one. Dove—he came with me but he got delayed at the front desk—he took her away. Cleaning up the blood was a bit trickier, but this is a hospital. Blood needs to get cleaned up from time to time."

"I suppose it does." He hesitated. "Like the things between us." He licked his lips and pretended not to notice as the steady beeping of his heart sped up again. "Belle, I know I'm a difficult man to love. I've brought you so much misery when I only wanted to make you happy. But . . . please, stay with me."

Belle put her arms around him (carefully, leaning a big to the side as she hugged him so he wouldn't feel cornered or trapped). "Always, Rumplestiltskin. I promised you forever, remember? And because I need you. My heart's not whole without you."

_My heart is nothing—nothing but darkness—without you_, Rumplestiltskin wanted to say but didn't.

The potion might be enough. The dark ashes the curse had been making of him might be coming back to life. Or perhaps not.

For now, for this moment, his heart felt warm and whole. Whether he was healed or had only been granted this small island of peace with Belle before the dark tides that seemed to rule his life swept in again, for this moment, it was enough. For this moment, he could be happy. He'd thought he was going to die without ever seeing her again. Just this once, the gods had shown mercy on him. Just this once, he would be wise enough just to treasure their gift and the time they had been given.


End file.
